


*

by dearjoanwallace



Category: Red Hot Chili Peppers (Band)
Genre: Gen, Initiation, band initiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 08:52:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10590594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearjoanwallace/pseuds/dearjoanwallace
Summary: A Red Hot Chili Pepper initiation





	

**Author's Note:**

> *  
> by Kellyanne Lynch  
> 30 April 2001, 2:15 - 8:25 PM
> 
> Disclaimer: Events of this story are so, SO loosely based on real happenings but are mainly a product of my ever-scary imagination. Do not be too alarmed; I am seeking professional help. I am not with the Red Hot Chili Peppers, am not a former bandmember, and am most likely not a future member. If any one of these conditions change, I will let you know. This story's purpose is to add more literature to the RHCP category. And why? (Do you have to ask?) 'Cause Chili Peppers rock the jukebox!!! This story is a tribute to a kick-satsfleish band, and it is dedicated to my new friend, Fastfood Junkie, the co-regent of Chili Peppers fanfic. You rock! Peace, Love, and Chili Peppers!
> 
> Summary: This story is about the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Well, that explains it!
> 
> Rating: PG
> 
> Please e-mail dearjoan@mikeypower.com with questions, comments, theories, complaints, or words of wisdom.

Glowing sphere plunged into the ocean, rays glittering on the waters, slipping away. A gull screeched, its shadow soaring across the sinking sun. And both were gone. The landscape faded to gray.

Breezes swept across the beach, chilling two unwavering figures. They stood on a mound of boulders, each at his full height, adorned in nothing but strategically placed tube socks.

They stood.

Then one lowered himself, left knee pressing into the granite. Strands of long, chocolate toned hair spilled down his cheeks, over his shoulders. By his foot was a rusted paint can, crimson streaks tearing down the sides. He dipped his hand inside. Pushing against his right leg, he rose, and stood before his companion. His fingers glistened in the moonlight, the red clinging to and dripping from his digits.

He raised his hand to the second man's pale, curly hairline, his own hair flowing in the evening whispers of the beach. His hand swept down the other's forehead, nose, and chin, drawing a wide, crimson stripe. The hand brushed across the centre of the face: left cheek, nose, right cheek. Diagonally: left temple to right jawbone. Right temple to left jawbone.

The second man knelt. His fingers slid into the can, and he rose. Hairline to chin. Cheek to cheek. Left temple to right jawbone. Right to left.

The dark haired man's eyelids fluttered open. His deep brown eyes rested upon the cerulean of his companion's. Staring. Waves crashed around them. The light slipped from the gray surrounding them, and two figures ascended the rocks, clad only in tube socks.

The two painted men turned to the newcomers, who now stood five feet away on the same boulder. Breezes danced across flesh, and the one to the right shivered. Goosebumps speckled his skin. The wind blew his medium length golden hair in every direction and swept across the shaven underside.

The second newcomer gritted his teeth, glancing from one painted face to the next. Curly, shoulder length locks tangled with the zephyrs. His fists clenched. His muscles tensed. His body determined not to flinch.

The painted ones glanced at one another. Each nodded and returned his sights to the others.

The dark haired man stepped forward, his eyes narrowing upon the blond-haired applicant. The latter was just a boy, really, his dark glossy eyes wide, staring at the older individual. Staring... Staring.

The dark haired man drew back his right arm, balling up that hand. The boy raised his eyebrows, wincing. He gulped. The older man shook his head, and the boy's face relaxed. He closed his eyes, tensioning his stomach.

SLAP!

A heavy hiss escaped the boy's nostrils, brows furrowed, eyelids clenched. The older man stepped back. He turned to his painted companion, who nodded. The latter drove his fist into the boy's abdomen. Not one muscle moved within the boy's wiry frame.

The dark haired man stepped to his left, meeting the stony eyes of his second applicant. These eyes stood their ground.

SLAP! ... SLAP!

The stony-eyed applicant rocked on his heels with the sheer force of the second blow. Not a sound. Not a flinch.

Kneeling, the two painted men dipped their hands into the paint can. The fair-haired man's fingers ran down and across each applicant's face. The dark haired one glided his hand left temple to right jawbone. And right to left.

As Anthony's fingers slid across Chad's jaw, a smirk played across his lips. He threw his arms around him. With a brilliant smile, he turned to John. Anthony hugged the boy.

Flea knelt and kissed the feet of the initiated. He rose, his painted face illuminated by a toothy grin. He embraced his new companions.

A battle cry resounded from the depths of Anthony's heart, and Flea, John, and Chad answered each with one of his own. The four yelped and danced in the night, into the wee hours of morning. Concerts and recordings would come soon enough. Brotherhood was now.

THE END


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